Lakeviewing was a
silent affair between two.
One of us will drown.

*

How will you care for
me, if you were allowed-
to die in rapture?

*

The boatman failed
to sight the land. A fireball
descends to knife sea.

You are repeating
hymns to douse the flames
of a burning god.

Walk to the potter's
field, where books are
buried in wraps.

In the wasteland,
you can search the frozen
tears of Zen.

Riddled with shocks, a
ripening moon, rises in
pain, like wingless bird.

In search of human-
nest, to get back to sanctuary
of tender embrace.

I imagine you
standing at half-open door,
creating a myth.

A lot more has to
be done, when moon
hangs out at the window.

Observing what
was, unknown as if
becoming feral
looking through the black hole.

Dreams were bizarre stones, on
your poor fingers
making palm rich.

Prudery and anguish
will not go together,
when predatory wants a mercy ****.

Leave some afterwords
before the Apocalypse.
Nobody was walking back home.

You can invite the
asteroid to hit the earth.

The beauty of being
nothing, like the nystagmus.
Do you see me through,
when I break inside?

Won't you release your
white doves to smell
the melting moon
of summer's blues?

Nameless a poem swims
in your pale eyes. I
watch the cobra rear up
like a purple monkshood!

One day I will pay
back your debt, for the
myth of phoenix. I will
live for centuries in the
desert to rise from ashes.

Nobody becomes a conqueror!

Caught on the wrong foot,
you want to defend god. Myth
of destiny fails.

A breathless moon was
in hurry to meet an angel.
Earth was turning black.

There was the red
moon buried in blue lake.
Only god knows why.

What would you say―
if I shed my identity,
before the water enters the boat?

A cold-blooded,
culpable homicide, of the genius,
whom you gave your house
of cards.

Amidst the pathless windows
leading to no night
no dawn.

The ice bucket dramatics.
What message you want
to send, to thirsty small birds.

The fishermen sleep
beyond the echoes. No stones
were going to scream.

Deep gaping. For that
you go to eat fire like cassowary.
The dragonflies float to hunt the stars.

My voice will not die
after the call of the sky. Where is requiem?
Has the hate been buried in water?

I will survive with
kingfishers, though hurt in catching
the stones, while making a wall of flowers.

I feel the presence.
When you had bartered
my pulse for a pain.

Something impossible
was going to happen.

I was buried in a wall.
The words you did't utter,
had reached me.

We would talk of the
marriage of sun with
a moon.

A ****** soul in
yoga, takes a flight to meet
her angel for the
first kiss.

Sometimes life
betrays the death and
renews the pact with
immortal embraces.

Revealing id,
without ego, and hunger.

I may not touch
you ever, placing my palm
down face on the burning candle.

Step by step I come
near you and move away
collecting my pins.

The medallion still hangs
in the cleavage.

You will throw your head
backward and laugh in misty chimes.

The skiagram shows the increased
vascularity. Would you come
if I don't call you?

We will smell together
the parting lips, trying to say
love, but unannounced.

The unthinkable,
has happened.
I am still alive.

After the harvest
moon, there were―
many aspirants,

to reach the Mars,
when a lynx left the
pug marks on their chests.

First snow went
deep in asylum.
All gates were locked.

Horror, how big it was?
Watching the dead bodies floating on
the river. A voice screams. Dearth said mercy.

Looking at the truth of
pain, the end smiles. Then who killed
oneself? Right to **** was not religion.

What can be the last wish
of a stone buried in the grave of a
resuscitated angel after the death?

I will retrieve your
consecrated shrine of
innocence.

You will kneel
eating grass. The great
shift towards Agni starts.

It burns the stigma,
the sins. Whitens your
***** teeth.

What you have done
to me O queen of hoods,
hood of queens?

The kernels were intact
ready to grow, after the wild
fires on hills.

I will not utter a word.
A new breed of mix of man
and god was coming up.

What I feel, was
incredible to shake off.
And the moon cries.

Why do I tie the
knot with nature? Your
eyes and cascading voice?

My wait will never
be over after the brief
encounter with the rising
mounds.

There it goes, my self-
made tryst with burning ghats,
to search a lost face.

The twilight pain
climbs again in my verses.
I cannot weave
a beautiful sunset.

For whom the
echoes travel very long
in dark woods?

Would you live without your
shell, one day? A chasm
was growing between us. I
was feeling very aloof.

Intruding on your private
grief, sometimes I will
see the blue veins ascending
the marbeled thighs.

Beehive and death, sets
us apart. Beyond the age
a sun sinks in crimson glory.
To bring peace on the spikes of grass.

The dreams were disappearing.
The house sits knee deep
in thoughts. I will be collecting the
knobs fallen from the doors.

I would not understand
your fabric, when you come
wearing only smile.

The politics of life was beyond
my poetry. I only have the words
as my wealth. No other assets.

I wanted more space
between the black holes. My earth
needs a rebirth. I am very lonely.

Poison poems. You always
sparred with a family of weighting
heights, which could not touch the sky.

A series of serial killers,
were ready to begin the assault
on the tossing daffodils, deaf, dumb and blind.

The cosmic touch.
I was facing moon,
thinking, about the end of
universe and millions
of blue butterflies.

Someone didn't want to die
in snow-white shroud.
A severed hand
fires a gun.

How much was your timeless
wait? I may disappear
in the dots and dashes. Would you
be asking for courage to come?

The cruel realties. You
don't want to look back. The
weeping willow will not
stand *****.

The temple was waste
without a goddess of love.
The return of requiem
makes me sad.

Can you tell me, where
the tunnel ends. The curve has
flattened. There was no light.

In pillars of wasteland,
why did we reach there?
Death-kissing starts now.

The power of questions
will not mitigate your arrival.
Where will we drown?

Almost reached.
Your tongue slips;
Then you fall.

The cyclone,
develops an eye, to hit.
You become blind.

An outcast―
became a star
in dark sky.

Why the elite,
of choice or exhibit―
wants to wear rags?

Trying to bring the change
with bleeding silver.

As it is/was, this world.
You may not agree to it.

The release of tension
from the cupped eyes? Will not
alter the secret deal.

There at the hemline,
bodies were scattered, slain
after the trespass.

The royal coin, flexes
its muscle. It will talk
through the muzzles.

Poorest of poor will become free.

It sets me off
when you bring up
afterlife.

With upturned
snout, the asp, enters
the hole.

Emptiness
fills the gaps. Somewhere
words join. Become a sentence.

In tattered clothes.
I would see my returned privation.
I will make the holes bigger,
so that light seeps in,
on my blackened chest.

The lovers will not meet
today, out, in open;
on moonward path.

The charred remains―
of the rope are visible.
The soaked blanket, to sleep in,
has become infernal.

What are you drinking now?
No other passage,
no exit, even the kiss of death?

Unflinching I was
going to ask "Are you going to
break the bread with me?"

It was me. Contagious.
You were impaled. Making history
in this fractured era.

Bidding farewell to me,
money was polishing the pitch,
Only fire was generating the ash.

O god, the time in your
moment dies to watch the nemesis.
I pick the snakes between man and cheetah.

Your pride if wronged
bleeds in my poems. We all are destroyed
by changing the name of Supernova.

Sometimes the god turns
into a fakir to share the agony of human spirits.
After all it was your creation.

We have the same
price. Do not go into the sea. There was
no point to look back again.

The unwritten words
can talk by combatting. The prophecy
speaks in proxy and becomes history.

What was the myth
of collecting all the poisons to **** the
earth? Tools are making a wasteland.

No comments. The eagle
is ready to pounce on
your future, when you were
preparing to consume your past.

Flesh eaters. They are going
far than far. I wanted
to do something strange
and new, for example―

like destroying myself. *****
thoughts. Always coming with
new legends. It is a deep
hole. Cavernous.

A dark blankness. You
are not arriving. And then you
let it go― sensually, facing
the unknown. An explosion,

waits for a new birth. A poem!

Throwing the prosthesis, he jumped for
numericals, refusing to expand,
walk with father of sorrow
the revolutionary.

He wanted to talk as an equal
in interpretation of truth about death
and God, the new incumbent
of faith.

An aptness to spill the blood on
your face, of some recent slaughter,
as a witness of dying for peace,
as soothing law of nature.

He wears the fabric of inspiration:
the city and streets are empty
weaving the welts of pain,
for nothing.

O narcissist, would you go
above the moon, if I want to sleep
in the flames of invisible stars?

Who gives light without
pregnancy to new gods and installs
aerial temples of broken hearts?

The killing has a moon
face. I will bring corn fever to
gnaw the legs of falling truths.

Where sand becomes
silver, you cower
under a palm.

A birch tree
beacons you to write
the fall of man.

All day you wait
for a miracle.
It never happens.

This autum, I will
worship a naked tree.
A toast for dying moon.

It was a solar bite. Why
are you living behind the endgame?
You want to suffer without bruises?

Does your anger tear,
legs and hands? The satan outreaches
the religion. Open Handed I give love.

The deceits appear again.
I believe in the lake not crocodiles.
I will drown in your heart. Will you spill out?

Phobia. As it occurred.
Earth was being spread
on the tryst of man.

You won't learn the
life, wearing the veil of death.
That will ditch the destiny.

It was a big question. How to meet you?

One's own beginning was
transient. You will always
imagine the end.

How wrong world was,
when you were stigmatized
for saving the poems?

Give me your fist not the hand.
At least I am not going to be perished.

Long live the ****.

As if walking-
in cyberspace, searching
for you.

I want to ask you
to give back my tears-
which were shed,
on ****** beach.

What renunciation-
you need, living in the shell
of a mollusk?

You don't want to-
be found. O destiny, goddess
of ciphers- tell me,

why did this happen?
Your silence opening the
blood trails?

My branded poem still weeps.

Pardon my Alter Ego.
My poems fall like snow from the
eyes like jewels of thoughts and tears.

The words deem meaning
of about turn. Each truth cries. I will
go away with light in lonely sky.

A nameless pain takes
revenge. Why do we start the beginning
of living burial in the dark lake?

I wanted to be ready.
Take my consent for the assault,
before you reveal
your fangs.

Trigger-happy,
the fiesty moon, shoots
at the tangerines of orange―
red skins.

The waves will not grieve.
There was ample time
to drown the black buttons
of windshields.

Bleeding mouths of
baby poems eject the barbs.
Forget the believers. There
was no magic in my art.

It was a pure symphony.

This was eerie
in blue seizures. Half-mother
was ready to defend.

The sun, spins the hot
ash overnight. The waste land
will never answer.

You wake and lose
the rare event of alchemy.
Gold turns to base metal.

Bloodline was in airlock.
Unlimited pique-
to move the wheel.

Shutting the door behind,
you face the moon, who
was walking in grief.

In my universal pain,
I enter a poem to
explore the omnipresent void.

Where will you go-
to find the peace of the
wrecked ship at the bottom of sea?

Carry me like a wounded
lion in blood, and fangs.
Only the eyes reflecting your image.

I will not put on a
call, there was nothing left to declare.

The pain of absence
rises, when there
was no conspiracy.

I will have you
in perfume of silence.

Lips drag the pen
on paper I allow myself
to be cheated.

What was your
motive to put on the light.
I was searching myself
in dark.

Inhale me in
water of life. My boat
was sinking.

Thoughts become
criminal. I never wanted
to erase myself.

We are all liers
No love is made. Racism? Tell
your agony. Money flies.

The faith is negated.
Talking to sun. Lot's of misery.
Savageness. Anxiolytic prevails.

How will you look at
the moon? The muse! Can go
silently for a suicide?

Begins to reel,
the dusk,
down the street.

The grey moon waits,
solemnly, for the
music of earth to start.

There is enigma―
in dark. You see
the inside of a shut house.

Like the stone
eyes reading the heliograph
of shrunken gods.

Plunged into a gorge
your eyes, to find
the secret of a fall.

Watching in shifting
stance of futurism, I will
be choosing frozen-
pains of the past.

Endlessly I begin
again, the pursuit to meet
the end at moonrise.

I look up at the moon,
and you look back at the road.
And I will ask, what
was the black truth?

You always think of
the windows, when the doors
were shut. To escape from
the colossal mistakes?

Truth, one day
will melt in your eyes.
I will pick up the pen.

After a little wee,
I will put the record straight
by removing your name
from the hit list.

No more, the river
bleeds, chasing the mannerism,
of falling stones on
the glass houses.

A massive selfie campaign,
overtakes the school bus,
full of wayward, tipsy
wandering kids.

The negativity
targets the blooms. Roses are
roses, they will not stop
sending their compliments.

In searing heat, on
the fern path―
a thoughtless journey begins.

You cancel the prayer
for midnight blues.
Ice was going to unload.

The skin deep spread
of levator floor acts.
You jump from a springboard
to catch a lucid dream.

Would you now walk like
an eight legged spider?
I will remain sociable.

The hands are not for sale.
I am arranging the combs
on the white sheet―
for the queens.

My unique offer:
I want to embrace your
downtrodden faith.

A continuous buzz makes
me nostalgic of my
rendezvous with a walking
fern in early dawn of
enigma on limestone.

Would you mind to stand still
in blue light to-
read the unwritten command
of astragalus?

Where you want to
go to find yourself in
the black autumn of ashen faces?

The ice. A brittle
transparent truth of water.
Can you walk on the frozen lake
of eyes?

Between the swaying palms,
moon was moving
in armada.

Why did you come
late, to whisper, of the
explosive explicit?

But for a lone
cry, I would not
take you.

The jewels were mine.
You had stolen
from my waistband.

It substracts the
stings from my
hobbling gait.

Tonight I will not sleep
I will call you in my eyes.

My hands were trembling
when I opened the book.
Words you uttered long back
tumbled out ashen-faced.
I started burning inside.

Where did we take a wrong turn?
The oven had baked a burnt-out
face. They are altering genes.
Suddenly it is going to start
a riot among the gods,
a pure ****.

Frightened I move in circles around
the little black hole in the center.
Martians would throw the boys
to appease the hungry angels.

Why do you want to live
in my skin ? Why was this a poison?
What was the weakness of your ascent?

What would be my tale?
Am I competent to **** the Drosera?
A plant eats the insect as a food?

Your own power melts,
when you start learning love. Why
you want to become the black moon?

Do not want to be
judged by trivia. Only
non-words would appeal me.

The infiniteness.
It has great strength. There
is no ending, no pause.

The ghost house
still haunts me, where I
found the truth and young lies.

The anatomy of
death will exhibit the
red blood. No tears.

And when you live
with memory loss, only
last word will remain on your lips.

The suicidal truth
was always fascinating.

I feel the deja vu.
The mysterious cascades
give the amnesty to thorns

Were you ready to ambush the
bete-noire? We don’t know how to
celebrate the colossus Himalaya .

The god doesn't want
to inhale the ether and **** the
bushmaster. Venom turns milk.

Any need to stitch an acid,
bare designed, in endoplasm,
when moon was walking like a full-breasted bride?
The synthetic feat was neat and clinical,
yet I want to turn back and talk about
something which heals the spirit of winged sorrow.

Marrow implant blooms like pink dough.
Can you walk straight,
think clean?
Organs for sale; mannequins are real flesh, bones, heart.
Roasted incense of sick birds floats –
you become a possessed iris.

Can you do something?
My limbs are aching, terrific pain.
Want to run like a stricken buck,
go for fasting like a schizophrenic,
become a letter undelivered
and message written off!

What is the truth then?
I cannot afford to accept the defeat!

Today you are a king
in sunlight, stalking the moon
in rainy dark night.

*

Staying innocent-
in pursuit of happiness,
living with wolves, beasts.

*

Celebrating
dawn, before sun rises to
melt down your dreams.